


Just Three Words

by highlytrainedfangirl



Series: Moments from canon [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, HLV, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 17:12:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7231450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/highlytrainedfangirl/pseuds/highlytrainedfangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thoughts and feelings of Sherlock in hlv as he says goodbye on the tarmac.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Three Words

**Author's Note:**

> I've been meaning to write this for ages and finally got round to it so I hope you enjoy.

**Sherlock**

How did it get to this point, watching by his brother’s side as the black car pulled onto the tarmac. Of all the possible outcomes, how did it end up like this?  
Sherlock stood silently as the car stopped and John and Mary got out. The latter strode towards him, the sound of her heels ringing out across the quiet landing strip. John walked behind her, more hesitant.  
“You will look after him for me, won't you?” Even if he didn't like her, Sherlock needed to know that someone would be there for John once he was gone. If only he'd realised that before.  
Mary wrapped her arms around his neck and they both placed a short kiss on the other’s cheek. “Don't worry, I'll keep him in trouble.”  
Both smiled at that.  
“That's my girl.”  
But the smiles were short-lived and dropped as soon as Mary turned away. Sherlock's gaze dropped to the floor before flitting up to John. The other man’s expression didn't change but he gave a small nod in acknowledgement. Taking this as his cue, Sherlock appealed to his brother, “since this is likely to be the last conversation I have with John Watson, would you mind if we took a moment.” The surprise on his brother’s face was evident. Of course, from anyone else Sherlock would have expected it, it was a much more emotional and intimate request than many would believe him capable of. But Sherlock always assumed that Mycroft saw through his mask, especially when it came to a certain army doctor.  
Maybe that was why Mycroft didn't say a word, but gestured with his head to the other side of the plane.  
Once the others had left, John stood closer to Sherlock, back straight, head up. A military pose. He gave a short nod before looking away.  
“So, here we are.”  
“William Sherlock Scott Holmes.”  
The turned head snapped back towards him, “sorry?”  
“That's the whole of it,” Sherlock schooled his expression, raising his eyebrows as if stating the obvious. “If you're looking for baby names.”  
John chuckled but Sherlock wondered how much of what he'd just said John understood. Obviously he recognised his own words, from a time that seemed a life ago. He even put the same pauses and emphasis in. When John had spoken those words last it had been out of jealous, when he believe that Sherlock held some kind of feelings for the Woman. One way in which John had allowed Sherlock to see his true feelings, intentional or otherwise. Now, Sherlock was speaking them as he left John behind with someone else. If Sherlock was going to say good-bye for good, he had to at least try and give John the same.  
“No we've had a scan. Pretty sure it's a girl.”  
“Oh, okay.”  
It should have been a time for a grand speech, a time to confess, a time for speaking the words that would otherwise remain unspoken. And yet Sherlock could not. For once he was left with no idea what to say or how to say, scrambling around in his brain searching for the perfect words that just didn't exist.  
Both heads turned to gaze into the distance, silence flowing between them, neither sure how to break it. Every so often one of them would glance at the other, but immediately avert their gaze. The awkward tension wrapped around the two men waiting to be broken.  
“Yeah” John’s voice seemed distant and he continued looking anywhere but Sherlock. “Actually, I can't think of a single thing to say.”  
What words did one say in a situation like this?  
“No, neither can I.”  
A soft and almost defeated voice came from John then, “the game is over.”  
That captured Sherlock's attention. “The game is never over, John.”  
He needed to John to see that, needed him to remember that even if Sherlock wasn't there his life would still continue. Even without Sherlock as a part of it, John could still go on living. It was something Sherlock hadn't even considered the first time. He didn't think that John would consider it ‘over’ without Sherlock there.  
Of course, the difference being that this mission really would be the end of him. But John didn't know that. Yet. He would work it out eventually, John really was a lot smarted that Sherlock often gave him credit for and he felt a pang of guilt at not telling him that more often when he had the chance.  
That was why it was so important that John knew, even if Sherlock was dead, the game lives. John lives.  
“but,” he continued in a softer tone, “ there may be some new players now. It’s okay. The East Wind takes us all in the end.”  
“What’s that?”  
“It’s a story my brother told me when we were kids.” Finally conversation flowed between them and the awkwardness slowly dissipated. “The East Wind – this terrifying force that lays waste to all in its path. It seeks out the unworthy,” in all his speech Sherlock finally gained the courage to look John in the eye, “and plucks them from the Earth. That was generally me.”  
“Nice.”  
“He was a rubbish big brother.”  
And there it was. A smile. Small and simple and shared between the two. This time the silence that settled didn't feel quite as awkward as before.  
John broke it by clearing his throat and asking, “so what about you, then?” John lifted his head to look directly at Sherlock and his heart nearly stopped at the words, “where are you actually going now?  
He did his best to sound bored and disinterested, “Oh, some undercover work in Eastern Europe.” He hoped that he succeeded in hiding the fear and dread he felt inside. Eastern Europe. Returning on a suicide mission to the area where he'd been tortured for months. Obviously John didn't know about that, he'd avoided telling anyone. After all, he was Sherlock Holmes, the clever detective in the funny hat, he wasn't supposed to feel things like dread or fear or have nightmares or phobias.  
“For how long?” _The rest of my life_. Because that, in reality, was what it would be. The length of time didn't matter because his ‘undercover work’ would be the end of him. Even though he knew he wouldn't see him again, John still believed that there would be an after for Sherlock.  
He couldn't meet John’s eyes as he spoke, instead staring blankly just over his head, “six months, my brother estimates. He’s never wrong.”  
“And then what?” He couldn't do it. He couldn't say it. He wanted to say something but words just wouldn't form. He briefly met his gaze before once again looking down at the ground, then off into the distance.  
“Who knows?” He said with a slight shrug. John nodded and Sherlock couldn't tell if that meant that John understood or not. He watched as the shorter man turned and looked out over the airfield. Sherlock studied his face intently until John turned back to face him, at which point his eyes reverted to their lowered position.  
It was time to say it. Now or never. The last time he would ever see John Watson.  
“John, there’s something ... I should say.” He captured the attention of John but still could not meet his gaze. “I-I’ve meant to say always and then never have. Since it’s unlikely we’ll ever meet again, I might as well say it now.”  
But at that point words left him. How could he say it? How could he vocalise everything he felt? This amazing, fantastic man, who never judged him, never saw him as a freak or monster. The person who stood by him no matter what, who believed in him even when no one else did. How could any words in any language describe what John Watson meant to him? But there were three small words, just three, that would be a start. One small phrase to finally admit out loud the feelings he'd tried to suppress for so long. Feelings that he never thought he'd get the chance to feel.  
Because as hard as it had been to admit it to himself, Sherlock was in love with John. He wasn't sure when it started for definite, or when it passed from a simple infatuation to a deeper emotion. But it had happened and Sherlock was done denying it.  
But how to say it? He had always lived as the ice cold sociopath. That was how people saw him. Even if his mask was breaking, it was so difficult trying to pull it away completely.  
Deep breath.  
His eyes rose and he held John’s gaze, not letting it drop. Just three words and that's all he needed to say and-  
“Sherlock is actually a girl’s name.” He couldn't do it.  
It wasn't just the mask either. While Sherlock had always struggled deducing emotions when it came to John, he did know that his feelings were returned. Or at least had been at some point. John had Mary now, he didn't need him. And even if his feelings were still returned what good would it do Sherlock to say them out loud? It was a lost opportunity. He knew that the missed chance would hurt both of them and so he stayed quiet. After all, no matter what the circumstance, there was one fact that would always remain; Sherlock would rather break his own heart than break John’s.  
So yes, he swapped his long overdue love confession for a small joke, watching the giggle it drew from John. Sherlock allowed himself just one more small smile. It was a sight he wanted to remember, to cherish for all the time he had left. He allowed John to be happy, just for the moment, unaware of Sherlock's inner turmoil.  
“It’s not”.  
A shrug “It was worth a try.”  
“We’re not naming our daughter after you.”  
“I think it could work.”  
John lets out one last chuckle and the two lock gazes for a few moments.  
After a pause Sherlock removed one of his gloves and extended his right hand towards John.  
“To the very best of times, John.” He meant it. Every day he'd spend with John, even the ones where they'd done nothing but argue, really had been the best he'd ever spent. And oh, the things he'd do to live them all over again. To the very best of days gone and days to come. He hoped that John would live a great life, long after he left.  
John hesitated before taking Sherlock's hand in his own and shaking it. They stall like that, motionless, gripping the other's hand in their own, eyes locked. Sherlock wanted to be able to do so much more, hug him, kiss him, wrap him in his arms. He didn't. This was how John would remember him, his friend. He gave one last, small shake to John’s hand before letting go and turning around without another word. He slipped his glove back on, avoiding the look his brother sent him as he climbed onto the plane.  
Leaving it all behind.

**Author's Note:**

> I had to rewatch this scene so many time to get all of the actions perfect and now I'm just a complete emotional wreck.
> 
>  
> 
> i know I originally said there would be a second chapter from John's PoV but honestly I've been trying to write it for ages and I'm struggling. It may still come but I'm not making any promises.


End file.
